


you don't have to go it alone

by ravenous_vulpix



Series: How to Make Friends and [Be Influenced by] People [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: Bad Parent Sheila Haywood, Bombing, Canon-Typical Violence, Existential Debates, Gen, Granny Weatherwax is too old for this shit, Grief/Mourning, Homelessness, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason has no concept of what counts as brutal violence anymore, Jason is not a fan of cops, Jason-Typical Swearing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smoking, The Joker-mention, bruce wayne mention - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28136364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenous_vulpix/pseuds/ravenous_vulpix
Summary: Jason Todd dies in a burning warehouse and expects that to be the end of it.Instead, he's transported to a dark desert and makes some unlikely new acquaintances.
Series: How to Make Friends and [Be Influenced by] People [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061291
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	you don't have to go it alone

**Author's Note:**

> I've read some great fics where Jason dies and meets the Death of the Endless. I wondered what might change if he encountered Granny Weatherwax instead, and this fic was born. More items/characters will be added to the tags as they arrive, so as not to spoil things. Let me know if I should be tagging any further triggers.
> 
> So, disclaimers, a lot of the narrative or dialogue is going to be skewed from the characters' perspectives. Jason has a very particular view of his relationship with Bruce that isn't necessarily true, for example. He's also got some mental illness-related prejudice and views on body size that are *not* shared by the author. Message me if you want to check in about any of these things, of course.

Jason opened his eyes. He seemed to remember being in a lot more pain than he was currently. It was odd, because from the looks of things, he was in the middle of a collapsed burning warehouse. You’d think that this would be more worrying, but he really just couldn’t muster up the effort required. Instead he was sort of… passively curious. 

He stood himself up, looking around. The Ethiopian landscape stretched into the distance. He noted with bland interest that there was a purple car speeding away- the Joker and his cronies, most likely. On the opposite horizon, there was a trail of dust indicating that someone was coming in incredibly fast from that direction. 

He frowned and peered at the rubble around him. There was Sheila, crumpled into a heap, most of her corpse crushed but her face still recognizable. The fire crackled merrily in the few pieces of wood that were scattered around the blast radius, smoking like all get out. 

Oh, yeah. Sheila, the Joker, the crowbar, the explosion. Right. Bad times.

There was movement in the corner of his eye and he shifted to face it. There, on a particularly large piece of wooden beam, was a very tall skeleton, cloaked in a black hooded robe. He held a scythe across his knees and was looking out over the skyline pensively. 

Jason blinked. “Huh.” 

He glanced downwards, and sure enough, there was his broken body, lying there at his incorporeal feet. 

The skeleton turned to face him, grinning. It wasn’t the thing’s fault, really, it didn’t have many other expressions available to it. Its eyes, two pinpricks of eerie blue light in the sockets, still managed to convey a look of sort of… professional sympathy. 

“You’re Death, aren’t you. I’m dead.” 

RIGHT ON THE MONEY. Death stood up, looming a little. He strode closer and reached out one bony hand. TIME TO GO, JASON. 

Jason sighed. “Looks like.”

*** 

Opening his eyes yet again, he found himself in a night-time desert, stars twinkling coldly down at the grey sands. There was the occasional rock to break up the monotony, but besides that, the place was completely empty. 

Well. Except for the skeleton. 

“Now what?” 

Death cocked his head at him. NOW YOU WALK TO THE NEXT PLACE. He raised a gleaming finger and pointed at the dark smudge of a mountain in the distance, his deep sleeve dangling to lend gravity to the action. NO RUSH. TAKE YOUR TIME. 

“And that’s it?” 

THAT’S IT. 

“Is there anyone else here?” Jason glanced around at the empty sands stretching into the darkness. 

NOT USUALLY, NO. The skull, without changing at all, managed to convey an air of resignation. THAT SAID, THE WITCHES HAVE BEEN MEDDLING LATELY, SO I WOULDN’T PUT IT PAST THEM TO POP BY. 

“Ah, yes. The witches.” His voice was faint. “Of course.” 

Death captured him with his gaze, nodding his head. GOODBYE, JASON. 

The next moment, he was no longer there. Jason twisted, looking around, but this remained true in all directions. 

He thumped his butt down on the sand, sitting cross-legged. Suddenly, he was very, very, tired. He just… he’d been trying so _hard,_ and he’d been through so much. Fighting with Bruce, worrying that he was gonna get kicked back out on to the street, the hope that had choked him when he’d seen the birth certificate- having to sneak out past Alfred without saying goodbye, the disaster that had been Sheila…

He felt tears rolling down his face, scrubbed them away angrily. Of course it hadn’t been real. Of course she’d sold him out, watched as the fucking Joker beat him most of the way to death. He’d tried to save her from the explosion, because that was what he did and that was who he was, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be all that saddened by her passing. If nothing else, at least that refugee camp would do better without her skimming off the top. 

Even with the retreat back to defensive cynicism, he felt his heart finally breaking. Maybe it was better that he was dead. He wouldn’t have to live knowing that his mother thought he was worth less than pleasing the Joker. Knowing that at any moment, B was going to put him right back on the streets, strip away any sense of comfort or safety he’d finally gotten himself used to. 

He’d miss Alfred like a lost limb. There was no way he’d be allowed to visit the Manor, and very little chance he’d see the kind butler again. Unless he stalked him to his weekly errands, which with his Robin training he could do, but that wouldn’t be right to the old man. No, he’d have left Alfred in peace. 

That would mean never seeing Babs again, either, or the Teen Titans. Dick… he knew that the boy looked down on him, thought he wasn’t worth the Robin name, but when things were good, they were great. Dick would take him for ice cream, or ask him about school, or compare moves and help him get better. They’d vent about Bruce together, loosen some of the tightness in Jason’s chest. 

After this, though, there was no possibility that Dick would ever do that again. He’d probably rush to clean out Jason’s room, clear out any trace of him from the Manor. He’d never really wanted him there in the first place, just sort of tolerated him and tried to make the best of it, but if Jason had come back after this catastrophe he could wash his hands clean of the street kid without guilt. 

And the Commish. He’d gotten used to the man looking at him with respect, relying on his judgement in dangerous situations when Batman wasn’t available. Now, at best, he’d look down his nose at Jason and fucking pity him. Same way with a lot of the adults he’d interacted with as Robin. 

Better to be here, honestly. Where he could hold on to his fond memories of the past few years instead of having the reality thrown back in his face. He drew his knees up to his chest, held them close. Yeah, he looked pathetic, but he was dead, so what was anyone gonna say about it, huh? 

The smell of earthy tobacco interrupted his brooding. What the fuck? It’s not like he’d seen _Death_ smoking. 

A pipe was shoved in front of his nose and he followed the arm, looked up into a face like a wrinkled crab-apple, dark eyes twinkling. The person wore a large black dress, red boots, and, more importantly, a broad witches’ hat. 

“Want a puff, young man? Looks like you need it more than I do.” She waggled the pipe and her eyebrows at the same time. 

“Nanny!” A much younger woman, as shapely as a beanpole, crossed her arms when Jason caught sight of her. She wore her green dress with the confidence of royalty, spoke with a mix of authority and deference. “He can’t be nearly old enough for that!” 

“S’about as old as I was when I popped out my first kid, dearie.” Even with the argument, ‘Nanny’ sat back on to her rock, taking her pipe with her. 

Another suddenly-materialized woman had her hands on her hips, scowling down at the scene from underneath her own tall, pointy hat. “He’s old enough to die, ain’t he?” 

“Well, everyone’s old enough to die.” A girl Jason’s age was sprawled out on the sand, leaning back on her elbows. She seemed unconcerned about the effect of the ground on her sky-blue dress and her white apron. Not that either of them were pristine to begin with, mind. “If you really think about it.”

“That can’t be making him feel much better, Tiffany.” A large young woman sat on a closer rock, hands twisting in her lap. “Maybe we can save the philosophical discussion for later.” 

“Uh.” Jason’s voice came out more uncertain than he would’ve liked. Every woman in the vicinity focused on him with a worrying intensity. “So you’re the witches, then?”

Nanny preened. “We certainly are.” 

The oldest woman watched him with a suspicious air, the one in the green dress with a concerned moue. 

“Which witches?” Tiffany sat up. “Were you expecting us?” 

“He looked pretty surprised, I thought.” The girl on the rock shrugged. 

“I… Death told me that some witches might ‘pop by.’ I assume he meant you?” He itched at his face, realized that his mask was still on. He tore it off. It seemed wrong, somehow, to wear a mask here. 

“Oh, you’re hurt,” the woman in green cooed, coming by and kneeling near him. He stiffened, but she didn’t make any move to touch him. “What’s your name?” 

“Jason.” He looked around at the group, eyebrows furrowed. “Can’t say as I’ve ever met witches before. Proper ones, I mean. Zatanna’s powerful, all right, but she calls herself a magician, dresses like one too.” 

“I don’t know any Zatannas, sorry.” The chubby girl made an apologetic face. “Where is she based? Genua? Überwald?” 

“I don’t know where those are, but she tends to hang around New York.” 

“New York?” The eldest woman sniffed. “Never heard of it.” 

The other witches looked at one another awkwardly. Finally, Nanny spoke up. 

“We live in Slice, Esme. We haven’t heard of a lot of places.”

“Well. Must not be very important, then.” ‘Esme’ looked personally offended at the thought. 

Jason squinted. “You’re not from Earth, are you?” It seemed just about as plausible as any of this weirdness was. 

“We’re from the Ramtops.” The woman in green watched his bemused expressions. “The Hub?” 

“Well, I’m from the Chalk.” Tiffany fiddled with some pins in her bun. “I did used to live in the mountains, though.” 

The face of the chubby girl on the rock changed dramatically, from sympathetic to shrewd. Her body language changed, too, sitting up primly and tossing her hair back. When she spoke, her voice was haughty and cautious. “You’re not from the Disc. You’re from an entirely different world.” 

“You could be right, Perdita.” Nanny nodded at her. “What does Agnes think? She agree with you?” 

The girl’s expression shivered before she went back to twisting her hands, spoke with her old voice again. “Yes, I do. Perdita’s not very… polite, but she does have an eye for odd things like this.” 

Jason stared. “Are there… two of you, in there?” 

“What of it?” Esme’s voice was sharp. 

“Well… You’re not feeling any homicidal urges, are you? The desire to flip a coin and carry out an evil plan?” He cringed under their combined glares. “Only, the other guy I know- I knew- had some issues with his body-sharing.” 

“Perdita gets a little petty, sometimes, but usually we can work it out.” Agnes tugged at her witch’s hat. “She can be appeased with pranks when she’s really feeling murderous. Not as much actual murder, though.” 

“Is he the one that did this to you?” The woman kneeling by him fluttered her hands, indicating his entire body. “Granny, I know he’s dead already, but we can’t just leave him like this.” 

A sigh. “He can’t feel it, Magrat. He can’t feel much of anythin’.” 

“I agree with her, Esme. Still not right, leavin’ a boy like that in the desert. I can’t imagine if he was our Shawn or our Desmond or our Doug and a whole coven did nothing to help him, left him bleedin’ like that.” Nanny’s face showed distress, for just a moment, before she covered it with a puff of her pipe. 

“It wasn’t him. Two-Face, I mean.” Jason’s voice wavered a little and he cursed puberty with his whole heart. ‘Cause puberty was definitely what was affecting him the most right now…

Perdita took over the shared body, coming over and sitting with her legs curled to the side while she watched him. “It was someone else, then.” 

“Who would do something like this? Beat a boy to death?” Magrat’s eyes grew fierce. He saw the rage of a parent in them and felt a sharp pang. Oh. This is what mothers were supposed to be like. Protective. 

Tiffany darted in close, but moved with such a professional air that he didn’t think to stop her. She pressed her ear to his chest, held a warm finger over his throat. “Almost to death. He died of smoke inhalation.” 

Jason felt the need to comfort them. “I mean, better than dying in the explosion? Being crushed by the warehouse would’ve sucked, too. Probably would’ve taken longer.” He saw the deepening looks of horror but couldn’t make himself stop. “Burning to death ‘cause of the bomb would’ve been a bad time. And at least my- my mom, she sold me out, but she didn’t actually hit me with anything. She just watched.” 

Agnes, who had reemerged, seemed like she was about to vomit. Magrat was equally pale. 

Nanny’s eyes glimmered dangerously. “She did, did she? Who hit you, then?” 

“The Joker.” Jason paused, realized that they wouldn’t have heard of the monster. What an odd thought. “He’s this guy, he dresses up as a clown, but-”

“Hah!” Granny’s laugh was a sharp bark. She looked vindicated. “Never liked clowns. Can’t trust the bastards, with their faces painted over like that. Pretending to be happy all the time.” 

“Excuse you.” Magrat puffed up. “You know very well Verence used to be a jester, Granny. There’s no call for insulting my husband.” 

“He got better, dear.” Nanny patted her on the shoulder. “He never liked the job, anyway. He’s much better at being king.” 

He blinked. Okay then. Witches, queens and dual personalities. Why not? 

“Uh, anyway, he’s awful. Kills people, tortures them, gives them Joker gas that makes them laugh to death. Batman and I always fight- always fought him, and he’d win way too often. Even when we’d catch him, put him in the Arkham Asylum, he’d be out in a couple months, back at it again.” 

“Batman?” Perdita’s nose wrinkled. “That’s a sort of silly name.” 

“So is ‘Perdita X Dream’, but we never said anything rude about it.” Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Maybe he’s a were-bat. I’ve met werewolves, and vampires that can turn into bats, but never one of those. Who knows what ‘Earth’ has going on over there.” 

“Oh no, he’s human. _That’s_ Man-Bat, he took this serum and now he’s… part bat.” He trailed off. “Anyways, Batman and I- he’s my dad. Well, he adopted me a few years ago. His real name’s Bruce. I’m his Robin, like, his sidekick. He defeats bad guys and saves people and Robin helps him. I was getting pretty good at it, too.” There was a lump in his throat, and he had to stop. 

The women waited solemnly for him to continue. 

“But I started messing up. He said I was too violent, that I couldn’t control myself. The old Robin, Dick, he was always gentle and apparently a fuckin delight to have around, but I actually got my hands dirty.” He grinned savagely. “I only hurt assholes who deserved it. Rapists, human traffickers, that kind of thing. B wouldn’t have it, though, said we had to leave them to the law.” He scoffed. “Like the cops are gonna be of any use. The mob bosses just get their men out on bail anyway, and then bribe the judges to get the case called off. All cops are good for is running protection rackets and stealing shit from the evidence locker.” 

Seeing confusion in their eyes, he shrugged diplomatically. “I mean, maybe police are different where you’re from. Totally different world, and all.” 

Nanny chuckled, leaned back. “Oh, we don’t need policemen up in the Ramtops.” She blew a smoke ring up into the cold sky.

Now that was interesting. “You don’t? Who deals with crime, then? Delivers justice?” 

“We do.” 

Jason, looking at the iron in Granny’s eyes and the dark slash of her smile, believed her. She held herself with an air of righteousness, yeah, but also the sort of menace that he rarely saw. Mostly when B was so mad that he was about to kick the shit out of someone, and he planned to make them piss their pants before he even started. Bad. Ass. 

“Okay, I can see that. I don’t know how, unless you’re all hiding wicked muscles or serious firepower under those dresses, but…”

“Oh, I’ve got some firepower under my dress all right.” Nanny unleashed an absolutely lewd smile. 

“Gytha!” Granny sounded irritated but also completely unsurprised, like someone watching a puppy pee on the rug. 

“Couldn’t pass that one up.” 

Tiffany observed the exchange in silence, but Agnes spoke. “We use our power in the community or headology, most of the time. We’ve each got… skills that we can apply to certain situations. There’s much less actual magic than you might expect.”

“You mentioned muscles and weaponry… that’s not how we do things.” Magrat frowned. 

Granny’s face, on the other hand, showed distinct satisfaction. “We don’t need ‘em.” 

“Well…” Tiffany was finally joining in. “We do a lot of manual labour. I wouldn’t say that muscles are entirely redundant. You can’t make cheese with weak arms, that’s for sure. Or lift old men out of bed when they need their sheets changed and they can’t move on their own.”

“That sounds, um, interesting.” He tried to keep the mild disgust out of his tone, he did. Side note, the girl had to have serious balls to contradict Granny outright.

“It’s really not.” Perdita pouted. “I hate it. It’s so boring and humiliating.”

“You think you’re too good for the work, do you?” Granny pulled herself up and Jason barely stopped himself from cringing. Oh, this wasn’t good. 

Perdita looked unsure for a moment, glancing at the others, before she stood her ground. “Yes.” 

“Why? What makes you so important?” Nanny wasn’t overtly threatening the way her companion was, but the words were still sharp. “Why is your time and your comfort worth more than the rest of ‘em?” 

Tiffany cocked her head at the other witch, as though curious, but she gave an air of being as solid and immovable as the earth itself. “Besides, without doing the hard work, standing at the edges, making the world better- what would be the point? You want to feel high and mighty, wave a wand around, have people adore you with little to no effort? Go join the wizards. You want real respect? You want an impact? Stop taking yourself so seriously and do the dirty work. That’s what witches do.” 

“Damn.” Jason hadn’t meant to interrupt, but he was starting to get the idea that these people were serious business. At the very least, they had impressive attitudes and likely the competence to match.

Well. He’d meant to interrupt a little, because as snotty as Perdita was, she mostly looked like a sulky teenage girl who was being completely reamed and needed a break or else she’d shut down or lash out. He felt bad, too. The tiniest bit. After all, he’d agreed with her, and wiping old people’s bums hadn’t sounded nearly as important or influential as being part of the Batman & Robin duo. 

Nanny sat back again, apparently satisfied with Tiffany’s speech. “If you can, you do. We can do things others can’t, so it’s our duty to carry them out instead of passing them onto some poor unqualified bugger who’s gonna hash it up. Wouldn’t be worthy of much respect, otherwise.” 

Agnes emerged. “Um, Perdita’s just going to go think on that.” 

“Hmph.” Granny sounded distinctly unimpressed, but managed not to take it out on the other girl sharing the body. 

Magrat, clearly used to incredibly tense silences, broke it with ease. “What you’re saying is that you solve your world’s problems with- what, just physical violence?” 

“Well, yeah. I mean, we’re also like detectives, we find out whodunnit and then we catch ‘em, or we get intel and stop gang activity and evil plans before they start. Mostly we protect people. Sometimes you’ve gotta stop muggers from attacking someone and the only way to get through to them is to pound some heads together.” He inclined a respectful nod towards Granny. “I’m sure you could just talk to those lowlifes and have them running for their lives, ma’am, but most of us don’t have that skill.”

“You can call me Granny.” This sounded less like a concession and more like a demand, but at least she seemed more pleased than insulted. 

“Oh, gosh, we never actually introduced ourselves, did we?” Agnes smiled apologetically. “I’m Agnes Nitt.” 

He finally got formal introductions, even though he’d picked up on the basics of their names ages ago. Granny was Granny Weatherwax, Nanny was Nanny Ogg, and so on. When Perdita didn’t show up, Agnes awkwardly told him about her too. 

“And- why are you here? How? Death brought me here, but he wasn’t there when you showed up.” 

“We’re not here on purpose. At least on my end.” Magrat shrugged. “I was washing my hair.” 

Agnes and Tiffany both looked bemused, leading Nanny and Granny to the start of what would have probably been a fantastic staring contest. He had a mission, though. A question. 

“I don’t mind, or anything.” Jason cut in. “Prob’ly a lot more interesting now that you’re here.” 

Nanny sighed and turned to look at him. “Okay, sonny, you got History Monks on your Earth? Bald men in orange who look like sweepers and prevent time from self-destructin’?” 

He squinted. “Not ringing a bell, no.”

“One o’ them came to me, told me this was important. Said there was a timeline where things went very, very poorly for you and that we should pop by the Sands and give you a nice visit, maybe encourage you a little. I decided we should all be here, so we are.” 

“Uh… not to burst your bubble, or anything, but things already went pretty poorly for me. I’m dead. I dunno where you expect to encourage me to go from here. ‘Cept that mountain at the end of the desert, and I’ve been told I don’t need to rush.” 

“He was certainly cryptic, the little bugger,” said Nanny conversationally. “Wouldn’t give me too many details. Something’s coming up for you, still. Maybe it’s in the afterlife, maybe you go back and haunt the place you died, I haven’t the foggiest. Lu-Tze’s been a solid source on these things before, though, so I think he knew what he was talkin’ about.” 

Jason shivered. After all of the horror and misery he’d felt so recently, it was going to get worse? 

“We can’t be here with him all of the time, though, Nanny.” Tiffany seemed much older than she looked as she spoke. “We have responsibilities. We have a duty. We can’t carry them out if we’re astral travelling to the Sands all day.” 

“What if we just set up mind tethers?” Everyone turned to look at Agnes. “Hook a bit of our consciousness to his, so we can check on him and leave without much effort. Then we could still do our work.” 

“It would be complicated…” Magrat bit her lip. “It could solve a lot of problems, though.” 

“It’s settled, then.” Granny spoke with an air of confident command. “We’ll head to Gytha’s and get them set up. We should be together when we do.” 

“We’d have to leave, first.” Tiffany stared at him a little too understandingly. “Before we could come back.” 

Jason looked at the sands around him, kept his face blank. “I can handle it. I’m not a kid.” 

“Actually…” Agnes ducked her head. “Perdita says she might be able to stay while we go. Part of the whole two-people one-head thing. I’ll run the body and get us to the Ramtops.” 

“Smart girl, that one is.” Nanny finally tapped the ashes out of her pipe and stood up. “We’re off, then. See you soon, Jason.” 

One by one, the witches winked out. He watched at Agnes’ form, hoping for Perdita to arrive and stay with him, but there was just a brief moment of fuzz and then nothing. Figures. 

He laid back fully on the cool grains, trying to get a hold of himself. Okay, that was weird. Even for a guy who fought supervillains on a weekly basis, and lived in Gotham, which was a whole category of its own freakiness. 

It had been nice, though, with them here. They distracted him from his recent death, made him laugh, brought up questions he hadn’t even thought of before. Their banter was familiar, and even though he wasn’t one of them, they’d made him feel like he was part of it, the care that they clearly had for one another. Even when that Perdita girl made them mad, they didn’t shun her or mock her, just poked at her perceptions a little. 

They’d already upended a couple of his perceptions, too. He was so used to trying to balance out the scales, pay back evil with suffering, but they didn’t see justice like that. Not as something you did afterwards, or the way you reacted, but something you worked your ass off every day for by actually being, working, with and for people. Not holding themselves above civilians but crawling in the muck with them, carrying them through it or guiding them as they went. Justice as doing what had to be done to reduce suffering, to care for those that needed it. He wasn’t saying they’d totally convinced him to avoid violence, or anything, but it was food for thought for sure.

Despite differences in personality, he bet Alfred and Nanny would’ve gotten along like a house on fire. Granny was more like Bruce, but she might be a little too much like him- both seemed unfailingly stubborn. Tiffany reminded him of Babs. Agnes would love Grayson to pieces, with his gentle smile and encouraging words. Magrat… he wasn’t sure who would get along best with Magrat. And to be frank, Perdita would probably get along best with him. 

At the thought, the air started to twinkle a little and someone new appeared. He sat up and squinted. She did look very much like Agnes, but incredibly thin-waisted, buxom, and wearing a frightening amount of gothic makeup. Her arms were covered in fingerless lace gloves, and she wore a strappy black dress, but no witches’ hat. 

The girl crossed her arms, stared right back at him. “Well?” 

“Well, what? Have we met?” 

She rolled her thickly lashed eyes. “I’m Perdita. This is what I really look like. I’m just stuck inside of Agnes because she made me.” 

He decided not to comment on their similar facial features. Or on the incredibly odd sentence. “Oh, cool. Thanks for coming back. I was a little worried it didn’t work when you all disappeared.” 

“Oh.” She lost a little haughtiness. “Yes, there was something I had to tell Agnes privately.”

A silence stretched. He cast about for ways to break it. 

“What’s it like, if you don’t mind me asking? Living with Agnes?” 

Perdita heaved a dramatic sigh but looked incredibly pleased to have been asked. Jackpot. She came over and sat on the same rock that Agnes had. “Agnes and I used to be the same person. There were parts of herself she couldn’t handle, though, so she told herself that they weren’t her. Since she’s a witch and everything, she actually split herself in two, psychically, and I’m the result.” She fiddled with her lace gloves. “Now I’m stuck inside of her and I’m usually just kept as a voice in the back of her head. It’s terrible. She makes all of these dumb, self-sacrificing choices and I have to live with them whenever I pop out and take over.” 

“Sounds like she controls a lot of your life.” 

“Exactly!” She threw her hands up in the air. Her fingernails, he noted, were shiny and black. “She wants to be a witch, so we’re a witch. All of the other witches are stupid and narrow-minded. They talk to me like I’m a whiny teenager who’s going back on her commitments, but I never actually made any promises! I’m just stuck along for the ride. I mean,” she pursed her lips, “it’s fun, sometimes. Working magic can be pretty cool, and people are scared of you. And you get to wear black all of the time.” 

“Does she ever listen to you when she’s, like, running the body?”

“Not usually. It’s my body too, and I have to see it when things happen to us even if I’m not driving, so I try to tell her stuff to help us out. Like, people take advantage of her and she just rolls over for them. It’s maddening. I’ll say that someone is obviously out to get her or that there are easier ways to do something and she just shuts me down. Guess she’s just gotta do things the hard way. It’s like- she thinks she’s so perfect because she goes out of her way to suffer and be miserable for people who don’t notice or don’t care.” 

He whistled. “Sounds like Bruce. My adoptive dad. He’s got this giant stick up his ass and he does all of this convoluted shit to feel like he’s a good person even when it makes the Batman and Robin job way harder. He’s all, ‘We don’t kill, Jason, we can’t hurt the scum too badly, Jason.’ Then those assholes just know they’re gonna get off easy, so they’re barely scared anymore. He thinks that he’s always right and that the way he sees things is the only way.” 

Jason sighed, fidgeted in the sand. “And like- I grew up on the streets of Gotham, okay, I know what shit’s like in the city. He grew up in a fancy mansion and just decided he had to save everyone. Yeah, he does good shit, or I’d have never wanted to be Robin. But he’s so goddamn judgemental and he doesn’t get it, sometimes. The difference between someone who’s doing stuff they’re not proud of because they’re sure they have to and an unrepentant piece of human filth who gets off on hurting others.” 

“So he ignores what you say and when he screws up you have to deal with the consequences.” Perdita threw back her head and groaned. “Story. Of. My. Life.” 

“Does she ever let you out to do your own thing? Or, can you sort of take the body when you need to?” 

“Depends.” She shrugged listlessly. “A while ago these vampires were mind controlling everyone, and every time they took down Agnes I popped up instead. They didn’t see _that_ coming. Hah!” A vicious smile now crossed her face. “We got ‘em good, too. Once you’ve got Granny Weatherwax on your side, you’ve pretty much already won.” 

“What did she do?” Jason sat forward, interested. 

“Okay, so things looked pretty bad, and those bloodsuckers did stuff to turn Granny into a vampire and we thought she was dead and it was a mess. But THEN- you know how when a vampire turns you, you start acting like a vampire, have the same weaknesses? She Granny Weatherwax’ed em. Made them crave sweet tea with lemons, act like her instead of themselves. Then she beat them, ‘cause she’s been herself for a lot longer and is a lot better at it.” 

He burst into a surprised laugh. “No shit?” 

“No shit. And as for me- well, at first they seemed kinda interesting and Vlad was nice, and they actually had cool outfits instead of shabby dresses covered in cat hair. So I wasn’t really worried. Once stuff hit the fan, though, I was all over it. I was watching for their weaknesses, manipulated them when I was running things, made plans to stake them and we finally got them. It was so. Cool.” 

“Sounds like you wouldn’t be too bad to have on my side, either.”

Perdita absolutely fucking beamed at that. Oh, no. Was this, like, baby’s first compliment? Redirect, redirect. 

“So you’ve been telling me that Agnes mostly chooses the stuff you two do, but what do you like? What are you interested in?” 

From the enchanted look on the girl’s face, this did not help him in the ‘averting crush’ area whatsoever. “I like singing. Agnes likes that too, and sometimes we can sing at the same time. So that’s at least something she does that’s not awful. And we live in Ankh-Morpork- well, you wouldn’t know of it, but it’s the biggest city in the world. There’s _everything_ there.” 

She waved her hands. “It’s so much better than when we lived in the middle of nowhere. Besides, like- in Slice, everyone already decided who you were based on one thing your grandmother did, and once they’d made a first impression of you, it never, ever, changed. We don’t _have_ to be a pushover, but everyone there treats us like it, so even when I take charge people don’t really respect us. They always give us the harder work and expect that we’ll act like servants. In the city, though, we work in at the opera, so the first impression people get of us is of an artist. There are still issues with the coworkers, but,” she shrugged, “Agnes already made her mark, so that’s pretty much a lost cause.” 

Jason liked her when she was passionate instead of petty, so he asked her more questions, kept her talking. She told him about the singers who inspired her, her opinions on set design, why the stage manager needed to sleep with the casting director already, he wasn’t hiding anything from anyone. Jason let a lot of it flow over his head, but he was honestly having a good time. After the last- hell, the last month or two, just sitting here and having Perdita talk to him about opera house gossip was soothing. There was nowhere to go, nothing really to do. He couldn’t disappoint anyone, or fail to save anyone- Bruce couldn’t even make it here to glare at him, he could just… be. If nothing else, he wouldn’t have to see the Joker anytime soon. 

That line of thought made him tense up, which- after a moment- Perdita noticed. “What, are you saying Alan _should_ have kept that moustache?” 

“Nah, sorry, I- can I ask you something about this place?” Jason kicked his heels. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I just thought of something disturbing.” 

“I can tell you what I do know, but I’m not an expert on this realm. No-one is. Well,” she hesitated, “Granny probably is, but that’s cause she’s been here so many times.” 

He filed that little tidbit away for later and moved on to his more pressing question. “Does everyone dead end up here? My mom died right before I did, and I don’t think I wanna see her right now.” Understatement of the decade. 

“I actually know this one!” Perdita perked up. “Unless Death specifically allows it or makes it happen, usually the recently dead are, like, each in their own dimension of the desert and they don’t see each other. He’s not one for family drama, so it is five hundred percent unlikely that he’d bring… her… here.”

“Good to know. Yeah. I mean, if she was here then I might’ve asked why she did it, but… maybe it’s better if she’s not.” 

The not-witch looked horrified at the thought, and took on the defensive air of an irritated Chihuahua. “I don’t care why she did it. It obviously had nothing to do with you.” She saw his expression and hurried to continue. “Not like that! What I mean is that there’s nothing about you that made her do that. The kind of person who would just- you didn’t make her do that, that’s entirely her problem. If you asked her, she’d come up with a terrible excuse and make you feel bad for even asking.” 

“Thanks, that kinda helps, actually.” Jason let his emotions stir beneath his skin and tried not to poke at them too much. “I just- I always knew Bruce wasn’t a permanent thing, no reason for him to keep me if I wasn’t making him feel better about himself or serving his crusade. I thought- I thought that my mom, though, moms have to stick by you, right? They can’t just throw you away.” 

Perdita squinted at him thoughtfully. He got the impression that he was the first person to take her opinion this seriously, so she was going through dramatic personal growth and moral adjustment at the moment just because she wanted to live up to it.

“Nothing is guaranteed. No-one has to keep you. That’s why you find people who _want_ to keep you, and stick to them. People who actually respect you, like- Nanny’s a weird old biddy, but she treats me like a person and not like I’m just possessing her precious Agnes the way Magrat does. I don’t waste my time on Magrat, but Nanny’s good to me even when I’m a brat. I do nice stuff for her, but I know that even if I didn’t she’d still stick up for me if the others tried to get rid of me.” 

“I, uh, appreciate the life advice, but I don’t think I’m gonna be able to use it. Not exactly alive anymore.” 

Perdita rolled her eyes. “Well you’re here, aren’t you? I can tell the other witches already like you. They wouldn’t make all of these promises to come back and cast spells and stuff if they didn’t think you were at least interesting. And I- when I was gone for a second, I asked Agnes to check in with someone. It’s a long shot, but there’s a man who might be good for you to talk to. He cares about saving people like you do.” 

“Aw, Per, yer makin’ me blush.” Jason waved a hand at her. “Flatterin’ me, bringin’ me visitors.” 

In all honesty, yeah, he was flattered. This chick who’d known him for less than an hour was setting up playdates to make him feel better? The one who had a reputation for being shallow and immature? The desert was turning out a lot less lonely than he’d thought it’d be. 

Perdita herself blushed prettily, looking up at him through her lashes. She opened her mouth before she started fading. “Oh! Looks like she got there sooner than I thought. He’ll be right here in a minute!” 

**Author's Note:**

> I gotta say, I used to have a totally different perspective on Perdita, but after writing her I feel like I understand her a lot better. Gotta be tough being the widely disliked member of a system. 
> 
> Next up is a meeting with another Discworld fave. Eventually, I'd like to show Jay waking up and how he's affected by these conversations, but for now I'm just enjoying the ride. We'll see where it all goes.


End file.
